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With the Christmas season upon us, I begin both anticipating and dreading the eve and day of. The lead-up parties: El Gato's party, Taj & gifts with the ladies and Holiday music @ Yavapai, are going to be exciting, yes! In either case, the anxiety I feel as these approach later in the week have far less to do with the festivities themselves as it does with the people who will actually be attending them. I'm holding my breath to push through another holiday season as best as I can. Because no matter how "spiritual" or world-travelled I think I may be, or how much Real Love I have, there's something about Christmas that reduces me.

I am not spelling this out because something needs to be fixed. While I have tons of friends and family in my life that "love me like crazy," no one is exactly like me or in the same shoes on Christmas day. I feel like I'm cracked from hitting the sides too hard with my spoon and anger or chipped from being dropped to go run towards a loved one in need. I am uniquely my own. The holiday kind of turns this unique and celebrated aspect around and I'm stubborn in shifting my perspective, wishing to not see the beauty of these "flaws."

Your "story" is likely very different from mine. But perhaps it offers something useful to people reading this who are on the brink of changing their own lives. Fundamental to all our stories is that our Christmas's are imagined before they come into being. I hope you image something beautiful coming forth in yours, with no one forcing you to feel anything if you don't want to. If we make the best of this time acting on the rise to our reaction, perhaps history will call it the start of a renaissance.

The amazing thing about December is that no matter how many festivities you're set up to attend, it’s designed so that, regardless of the combination the people always go together — chips, cracks and all things we've yet to learn to make ourselves. Love, Sharon

Infinity

Yesterday a dear friend told me his dog, Otis, went hunting and never came back. Surprisingly, I handled the news with calmness and the first thing I said was, "can we call for him now?" It was sad, thinking he was so suddenly and rudely snatched away from our lives and there was no calling him back. I wonder if Otis is in Heaven. Death is still such a weird thing for me to comprehend.

Here is Otis enjoying life:

So long: now you soar with a lighter, stronger soul. I love you little guy for opening my heart to infinity and to cry.

p.s. I also wrote about Otis here: http://sharonunlimited.blogspot.com/2014/03/still-winter.html